


An Offer You Can Never Refuse

by applegeuse, fishpatrol



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, M/M, Podfic, Podfic Length: 45-60 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applegeuse/pseuds/applegeuse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpatrol/pseuds/fishpatrol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is a damn good thief – smart and rational, if a bit cocky. With Jensen at his side, he's even better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Offer You Can Never Refuse

**Author's Note:**

> This fanwork was created for the the [pod_together](http://pod-together.livejournal.com/) challenge on livejournal. The fic was written by [akintay](http://akintay.livejournal.com), and the podfic was recorded by [applegeuse](http://applegeuse.livejournal.com) and [fishpatrol](http://fishpatrol.livejournal.com).
> 
> Full text of the fic as well as download and streaming links for the podfic are available in this post.

  


Cover art made by fishpatrol!

**Podfic Length:** 49 minutes 13 seconds

**Podfic Downloads:** [MP3 (28.3 MB)](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2012/SPN%20RPF-An%20Offer%20you%20Can%20Never%20Refuse.mp3), [M4B (30.2 MB)](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2012/SPN%20RPF-An%20Offer%20you%20Can%20Never%20Refuse%20by%20akintay,%20applegeuse%20&%20fishpatrol.m4b) (right click & save as)  
Both versions also available at the audiofic archive [here](http://www.audiofic.jinjurly.com/offer-you-can-never-refuse). 

**Stream:**

**Present**

There's the telltale clicking sound of a lock sliding out of place before the door of the safe swings open, and Jared smiles. 

It always amuses him how stupid rich people are. They guard their houses with security systems worth a small fortune, but once you find a way into the house, it's almost too easy. Predictable. A safe in the bedroom or study, hidden behind an ugly painting, and a combination of numbers even an amateur thief could guess. And Jared is one of the best.

He peers into the safe and whistles lowly at the amount of jewelry cases stacked inside. 

Jackpot.

He glances at the door, cocks his head to the side to listen for any noises from outside, and then pulls the first little square box out. He goes through them one by one, quick and efficient, and hides what he can in the inside pockets of his suit jacket – rings, a couple watches, necklaces, bracelets. Underneath the cases are a few papers and Jared leafs through them quickly, but doesn't find anything worthwhile. 

Doesn't find what he came in here for either, but he'd expected that.

Jared puts all the boxes neatly back into the safe and then closes it, hangs the painting back into place, and checks himself in the mirror. His jacket falls straight and smooth, nothing showing, and the blond wig is still perfectly in place, his eyes a startling, unfamiliar blue. He tugs a strand of hair behind his ear, flashes a smile at himself, and then does a quick, final sweep of the room.

For a moment, he ponders how anyone can live like this. There's not a single photo on the wall, no knickknacks lying around. Everything is perfect and neat and impersonal. The bed is a big four-post one, dark, polished wood with ornaments, a canopy with heavy drapes and fringes, and the bedding is all silk and pastel colors. Jared snorts at the thought of sleeping in a bed like that. He'd probably have nightmares. 

The place is beautiful from the outside, big and sprawling with acres of land, but everything about the insides feels stuffy, suffocating. Endless rooms and endless money to spend on furnishing them, yet Jared's never been inside a house like this that actually felt like a home. And he's been in many places like this; grew up in one just like it, and it hadn't ever felt like home either – a house where you couldn't touch half of the things because they were only meant to be looked at. Where instead of family photos, old paintings decorated the walls. Where weekends didn't mean hanging out, but hosting some gaudy, expensive party and schmoozing with people. A house that wasn't meant for children to live in.

Jared shakes his head to himself and leaves the room as quietly as he came.

In the hall, he takes off his thin, black gloves, and walks down the hall slowly, casually. 

At the top of the stairs, he runs into the butler and gives him a polite smile and a nod.

"This floor is off limits for guests, sir," the man says, voice clipped and prim.

Jared gives him an 'aww, shucks' expression. "I'm sorry. I just really needed a bathroom, and the one downstairs has been occupied for a while. I think someone's had a bit too much to drink, to be honest," he says.

"I'll take care of it," the butler says, nodding, his expression smoothing out a bit. "But I have to ask you not to come up here again. These are the private rooms of Mrs. and Mr. Fitzgerald."

"Of course," Jared replies, voice understanding, and he gives the butler another smile. "My apologies."

He continues down the stairs without a hurry, his face a careful mask of carelessness.

+

**August 21, 2004**

The first time Jared steals something is at the party his parents throw him the day before he leaves for college. Jared doesn't know half of the people here and doesn't give a fuck about the other half, but he knows the party's not about what he wants anyway. Nothing's ever really been and Jared's gotten used to it. He watches with an air of attachment as his parents mingle with the guests, his mother smoothly promoting her newest charity – _just because it's convenient, Jared, and don't you think it's the right thing to do? When you're as fortunate as we are, you have to use every opportunity that presents itself to help those less fortunate, Jared._

Jared's used to it. His mother's life revolves around her charities; his father's life revolves around his company. Jared spends his life being dragged to their parties and galas, wearing tuxes he hates, talking to people he doesn't know, and being bored out of his mind.

Jared's last day in Texas is spent with his father's business associates, his mother's friends, their children who might have gone to school with Jared. But Jared's pretty sure he's never spoken a single word to one of them.

He eats fancy canapés, wishing it was a huge, juicy steak instead, smiles politely, and dances with women twice his age.

Tomorrow, he thinks, he's out of here. Tomorrow, his real life begins. He'll finally be able to just be himself, to do what he wants, to maybe meet someone who gets him, who cares about him and not the money in his parents' bank account.

"You grew up into a handsome young man, Jared," Mrs. Bloomfield says, breaking Jared out of his thoughts. It's the sixth time Jared has heard that sentence tonight, but it's the first time he feels hands wander down his arms, palming them.

"Thank you," Jared says stiffly.

"Eighteen. That's such a wonderful age, Jared. To try yourself out, learn new things," Mrs. Bloomfield goes on, voice low, her red-painted lips pulled up into a smile that's probably supposed to be sultry.

Jared clears his throat. "I'm sure," he says, impassively. 

When the song is over, Jared excuses himself and flees the dance floor before someone else can coerce him into dancing.

He snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, ignoring his protests that Jared is a minor, and finds an empty table. He sits and sips the drink slowly – he doesn't like the taste very much, but he knows his mother will freak out if she catches him drinking alcohol in front of her guests. 

It's a shame, really, that she doesn't even look his way once.

Leaning on the table with an elbow, Jared sighs and surveys the ballroom. The women wearing too much make-up and even more jewelry, Jared's surprised they're not sagging under the wait, clutching their husband's arms. Jared knows all of this is fake – the laughter, the conversations, the relationships.

One more night, he tell himself again. 

He shifts, and his elbow bumps into a purse. He catches it before it can slide off the table and moves to put it back, but he halts, considers the dark leather and golden snap. For a moment, he just stares at it, mind blank before a smile tugs at his lips. Jared looks around cautiously, but nobody's paying him any attention – at his own fucking party.

He undoes the clasp, peers inside and pulls a wallet out. He hides it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then puts the purse back and gets up, suddenly feeling a lot lighter.

+

When Jared sits in his bedroom that night, a tower of packed boxes by the door, he finally pulls the wallet out again.

Inside, there's a bunch of credit, club, and business cards, a wad of bills, an ID, and driver's license. All of it belongs to Mrs. Seymour. Jared remembers having met her and her husband and their god awful snotty daughter at the country club a few times. He can't stand all three of them. Tonight, Mrs. Seymour had been one of the woman with the most jewelry hanging off her, and she hadn't left the side of a guy half her age all night.

Jared looks through the wallet one more time, at the cards spread out in front of him. He doesn't need of any of it, but he still feels a thrill as he fingers the money.

+

**Present**

Back downstairs, Jared snags a glass of champagne from the first waiter that passes him with a tray. He scans the room and smiles when he spies Jensen, talking to an elderly woman.

He catches Jensen's eyes, raises his glass in a silent toast, and Jensen smiles. Jared stays where he is, watches as Jensen smoothly excuses himself from the woman before crossing the room to where Jared is. His stride is confident and he looks like a million dollars, hair neatly parted and glossy with product, wire rimmed glasses perches on his nose, and an expensive black suit over a thin, black turtleneck. 

Jared greets him with a chaste kiss to his cheek, hand resting low on Jensen's back as he leans in and murmurs, "Found what we need?"

"Always," Jensen replies cockily, patting his suit right under the breast-pocket once.

"Good," Jared says. "I found some nice, sparkly things too."

Jensen grins. "Show me later," he says lowly, and the look he gives Jared makes his stomach swoop.

"Oh, I will," Jared replies. "I'd suggest we leave right now, but I ran into the butler on my way down. I think we should mingle a little bit longer, not raise any attention to us."

"Okay. Mingling it is," Jensen agrees.

"Or we could make a quick stop in the closet," Jared suggests after a brief moment of thought, his hand sliding a bit lower.

Jensen laughs. "Later, loverboy," he teases. "Plus, you're not looking particularly attractive right now."

"Excuse me?" 

Jensen pats Jared's cheek and smirks. "You know I like my men dark, not blonde. And your eyes freak me out."

"You also like your men with pockets full of diamonds," Jared murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

Jensen's grin stays firmly in place, but his cheeks color a little, and Jared feels a surge of triumph.

"Later," Jensen repeats, and Jared deflates a little, but agrees.

They stay for an hour, talking to a handful of guests. Jensen delves into a conversation about art with a woman twice his age, her hair dyed a shocking, unnatural shade of blonde and more jewelry handing from her neck and wrists than Jared has in his pockets. She looks utterly charmed by Jensen, hanging on his every word, and Jared has to bite back a smirk.

He only chimes in occasionally, letting Jensen be in charge, and smiles to himself as he listens to Jensen talk about the – replicated – Eugène Delacroix painting hanging in the foyer. Jensen knows enough about art to fake being an art dealer and the woman laps it all up, not noticing Jensen's small slips. Jared does though. He's the one who studied art history and most of Jensen's knowledge comes from him. It's like a game they play at parties like this, reversing their roles, Jensen trying to see how far he can take it, how long he can fool people. 

It's amazing really, how much he's picked up from Jared's endless raves about art. Just a couple of years ago, all Jensen knew about paintings was how to steal them. Jared feels an odd sense of pride watching Jensen talk now.

"The real painting is in Bordeaux, not Paris," Jared corrects with a smile when Jensen stirs him away.

Jensen waves his hand dismissively. "As if she knew that. You can always get away with saying a painting hangs in the Louvre."

Jared chuckles. "You know, one day I gotta take you there. Let you see all those paintings for real."

"And geek out," Jensen teases, but he's smiling softly, and Jared wishes he could lean in and kiss him until they're both out of breath. His expression seems to give him away, because Jensen bites down on his lower lip and leans in closer.

"Let's find the hosts and say goodbye, shall we?" he suggests in a murmur, and Jared nods.

+

**February 3, 2010**

His chosen profession aside, Jared think he's a pretty rationale, smart guy. It's what makes him such a good thief – though Jared prefers conman, really, because thief sounds cheap. Thief implies he robs unsuspecting grandmas on the street and Jared's got more class than that. He's _better_ than that.

Occasionally, though, Jared gets a little cocky. He'll freely admit to it.

Since his first real heist – cleaning out the Dean's house because the guy was a dick and because Jared _could_ – Jared has known that if he ever gets caught, it will be because he's gotten too cocky.

Running down a dark alley, Jared thinks his time has come. In the background, he can still hear the blaring sound of the museum's alarm system, and way closer, the sound of heavy boots slapping against pavement. 

He tries to put it out of his mind, tries to focus on running as fast as he can.

When something suddenly grabs his arm and pulls, he lets out a startled yelp. Jared stumbles and crashes into the wall before he's pulled into a dark building, a hand coming up to cover his mouth before he can make another sound.

It's pitch black inside the building, the air smelling damp and musty, the silence almost eerie. 

"Shh, be quiet" a voice says, deep and male. The body pressed against Jared's back is _definitely_ male too, all hard lines and strong muscles. Whoever it is, he's holding Jared with an iron grip, but Jared knows if he struggled hard enough, he could probably get away.

"Hold still," the guy demands. "You'll draw attention to us and then we'll both be fucked."

Jared considers ignoring the order, just because he hates people telling him what to do, but whoever this is, and whatever he wants from Jared – he's probably right. Jared only has the choice between trusting him and ending up in jail. 

He holds still, listening for the guards outside. He can hear the footsteps coming closer, louder, and then reach their peak as they pass before getting slowly getting quieter. The hand over his mouth never leaves, and Jared nudges the guy behind him with his elbow, hard enough to probably sting a little.

The grip on him loosens, the warm press of another body against his vanishing and the hand dropping away.

Jared turns around and prepares himself for a fight if necessary. "Who the fuck are you?" he demands, keeping his voice low.

"We don't have time for chit chat. The guards will probably be back when they realize you didn't make it to the end of the alley," the guy says, ignoring Jared's question. "Come on."

"Where?"

"I have a car out front. Hurry. The cops will probably be here soon, too."

Jared hesitates for a second, but when he feels fingers curl around his wrist and tug, he moves, follows the guy through the darkness and outside.

It's not until he's in the car that Jared can finally make out the guy's face. 

Jared's not sure what he expected, based only on the gruff voice and strong grip, but he thinks he wouldn't have imagined someone so – well, _pretty_. Not in a million years. Mussed, dark blonde hair, eyes framed by thick lashes, and lips that are pouty and fucking amazing. Jared can't help but stare, take it all in.

"Better fasten that seatbelt," the guy says, glancing at Jared with a knowing smirk before gunning the car. There's the muted sound of sirens outside, still far away, but Jared knows it'll only be a matter of seconds before the cops will catch up. "This might get a little rocky."

The words are barely out of his mouth before the guy speeds off with squealing tires, and Jared gasps then lets out a startled laugh. He fastens the seatbelt quickly.

"So. Who the fuck are you?" he repeats.

The guy glances into the rearview mirror, a smile on his lips. "Jensen," he says. "You?"

"Jared," Jared replies, a bit distractedly. "What I meant, really, is _who_ are you, not your name. Names don't really matter – if that's even your real name at all."

"Can't you guess?" Jensen asks. He lets go off the wheel to wave his hand at his own body. He's dressed all in black, clothes skin tight, looking much like Jared himself.

"So, what," Jared starts, "You were gonna break into the museum too?"

"Yup," Jensen confirms. "But someone set off the alarms and fucked it all up."

He glances in the mirror again. Jared cranes his head back, too, but there's no sign of flashing blue lights and he can't hear the sirens anymore either.

"And you stayed around?" Jared asks. "If they'd caught you, you would have been in for it."

"Can't have a fellow criminal get arrested just like that," Jensen says with a casual shrug.

"Really?" Jared asks with a snort.

Jensen glances at him, grins. "Well, that and I've been watching you since you checked out the museum this afternoon. It was kinda obvious you weren't there to check out the exhibit – at least to someone who's been doing this himself for years. "

"Oh."

"You're a bit sloppy," Jensen continues. "But rookie mistakes aside, I kinda like your style."

"I'm not a rookie," Jared protests. Then, because he can't help himself, "And what exactly is my style?" 

"Brash," Jensen says. "A bit careless."

"So, you saved me because you think I'm an idiot and almost got caught?"

"But you didn't," Jensen points out. "Plus, I couldn't let someone as gorgeous as you get sent to jail, could I?"

"Gorgeous," Jared repeats, a bit baffled. 

When Jensen looks at him again, his glance lingering this time and looking Jared up and down pointedly, Jared feels himself flush hotly.

+

**Present**

"Home sweet home," Jared says, when the door shuts behind the bellhop.

"We're in a hotel room. In fucking _Omaha_ ," Jensen replies, kicking off his dress shoes. He's left the jacket in their car, and his hair is disheveled. Jared watches in amusement as he tugs at the collar of his turtleneck with a grimace.

They'd hit the road after leaving the party, eight hours of driving straight from Chicago to Omaha and only stopped twice - once at the other side of Chicago to deliver the papers they'd stolen, and another time at a gas station to fill the tank and switch sides. Jensen looks tired and tousled, nothing like the polished art dealer he'd pretended to be back at the party, and Jared just looks at him, taking in all the tiny details.

"We're in hotels more often than at home," he reminds Jensen. "I can barely remember what our apartment looks like."

Jensen snorts. "Point. But still, Omaha, Jared. That's a) in Nebraska of all places, and b) really far away from Texas. Couldn't you have chosen a different city at least? Like, New York?"

"It's safer. We're in New York too often and you know it," Jared replies. 

Jensen sighs. "I just hate this place."

"You've never been here," Jared points out. He runs his hand through his hair, sliding strands back into place, and he can't wait to take a hot, long shower. His hair feels weird after wearing the wig for hours, and his eyes still itch from the contacts even though he took them out the minute they hit the road. Jared doesn't get how people can stand to wear contacts every day – just watching Jensen poke around in his eyes on a regular basis freaks him out.

"There's nothing to do here. I hate lying low in places that are goddamn boring."

"There's stuff to do here," Jared argues.

"An art museum?" Jensen guesses, and Jared sticks out his tongue, but doesn't deny it. Jensen knows him well enough to not believe him anyway.

"You know," he starts, stepping closer to Jensen and sliding his arms around his waist. "If you can't find a single thing to do around the city, I promise I'll keep you entertained otherwise while we're here."

"Hmm, that so?" Jensen asks. He tips his head back and looks up at Jared.

Jared grins. "Oh, that's so," he says. 

He leans down and kisses Jensen, and Jensen lets out a small, pleased noise. The kiss is slow, but firm, tongues sliding together wetly, and Jared's hands find the hem of Jensen's turtleneck. He pushes it up until his fingers brush over the smooth, warm skin of Jensen's back and he presses Jensen closer, feels his body mold against his perfectly. Jared loves holding Jensen this close to him while they kiss, thinks it's probably his favorite thing in the world, the feeling both familiar and thrilling.

When they break apart, Jensen looks a little flushed with his eyes half-lidded, and Jared smirks.

"Let's put the jewelry in the safe and then we'll take this into the bedroom," he suggests.

"Let's," Jensen agrees with a nod that's a bit eager.

He follows Jared to the suitcases the bellhop had brought up and watches as Jared pulls the bag out of one of them. Jared holds it up and shakes it a little.

"Wanna see what I got? All that pretty, sparkly jewelry?" he asks.

Jensen purses his lips, as if to scold Jared, but then he rolls his lower lip between his teeth and gives in, nodding.

Jared laughs and leans down to kiss him, just a quick smack of his lips against Jensen's. Jensen makes a unhappy noise, frowning, but his expression brightens when Jared hands him the bag. He walks to the couch, sits down and spreads the haul out on the coffee table. Jared follows him a bit more slowly and stands behind him, watching Jensen sort through the jewelery

For Jared, it's always been about the thrill of a heist – knowing that he's taking something from someone else, that he can outsmart any guard and any security system. But Jensen's favorite part is this: the payoff. The diamonds and money and expensive artifacts. Jared suspects it's because of their different backgrounds, different reasons for getting into this. Jensen grew up piss poor with foster parents who cared more about the monthly check they got for Jensen than for Jensen himself. Jared knows Jensen loves how different his life is now, all the luxury they have. Jared's not complaining about the expensive hotel rooms, good food, or nice cars, but he grew up with these things and doesn't appreciate it the way Jensen does. Jared loves that about him.

"Pretty?" Jared asks. He rests his hands on Jensen's shoulder, squeezing once.

"Good stuff," Jensen replies. "Expensive."

Jared hums. "Good," he says, and slides his arms around Jensen. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the shell of Jensen's ear. "I'll buy you something nice with the money we get for it. Take you somewhere. Hawaii, maybe, or the Bahamas."

Jensen cranes his head back and laughs. "You know I'm not a girl, right? You don't have to buy me stuff to keep me around."

"Doesn't mean I can't be a good boyfriend and treat you to nice things," Jared replies.

Jensen grins, turns around and kneels on the couch, sliding his arms around Jared's neck. "You're an amazing boyfriend," he replies.

"And I look like myself again. Dark hair, no freaky blue eyes," Jared says.

"Hmm, I did promise you sex, didn't I?" Jensen asks.

Jared nods. "You most definitely did," he agrees, tugging at Jensen.

Jensen lets himself be pulled up, standing on the cushions. He laughs when Jared lifts him over the back of the couch, and wraps his legs around Jared.

"I'd punch anyone else for even trying to pick me up," he teases.

"Well, I'm not just anyone," Jared replies and grins cockily.

"You're not," Jensen agrees, voice soft and teasing. "Gonna take me to bed now, Jay?"

"You know it," Jared replies.

+

**February 4, 2010**

It's still dark outside when Jensen parks the car, the museum a few hours behind them and almost forgotten.

"Where are we?" Jared asks as he follows Jensen out of the car and into the building.

"My apartment," Jensen explains, nodding at the receptionist. He leads Jared to an elevator and presses the top button. "Or, well, Mark Smith's. Business man extraordinaire. He's renting the apartment for a few months because he's opening up a new branch in town."

Jared snorts.

Jensen looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "What? Don't I look the part?" he asks. He looks down at himself, at the expensive pair of jeans and button-down shirt he'd changed into in the bathroom of a diner.

"Oh no, you do," Jared says. He looks around the elevator, scuffs his foot a little. "So, hey, did I thank you yet? You know, for saving my ass."

"No problem. As I said, someone like you doesn't belong in prison. Would be a shame."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yes," Jensen says, his voice going a little lower. He looks at Jared from under his lashes and the intent in his gaze is clear.

"I owe you one anyway," Jared says, his stomach fluttering.

"Can think of a way or two you can make it up to me," Jensen replies, cocking his head to the side and smiling at Jared in a way that's both sultry and a bit unsure. "If you're into that kinda thing."

"Sex with strangers? Guys? Thieves?" Jared asks.

The elevator comes to a halt with a ping, the doors sliding open.

"All of the above," Jensen says. He steps out, glances back as if to make sure Jared is still following him. Jared doesn't hesitate.

"I think I am," he says. 

Jensen smiles softly. "Good," he says, and pulls out his keys.

They're barely inside the apartment when Jared crowds Jensen up against the wall. He covers Jensen's lips with his own, blindly kicks the door shut, and kisses him. Jensen makes a surprised noise, his hands coming up to Jared's shoulders and for a split second Jared thinks maybe Jensen is going to push him away. But Jensen curls his fingers into Jared's muscles instead, just holding on, and finally kisses him back. It's hard and dirty, eager, and Jared likes the way Jensen slides one hand into his hair and tugs, the way he pulls back and trails small kisses and bites down Jared's jaw, quick, sharp stings that make Jared tilt his head, give Jensen better access.

There's a glint in his eyes when their eyes meet, and he quirks an eyebrow at Jared. The look is almost challenging, and Jared grins, shifts so he can press his leg between Jensen's. 

Jensen's eyes flutter close, his lips parting and he lets out a soft, breathy moan, splaying his legs a little. Jared rocks against him with his hands braced against the wall on either side of Jensen's head before he ducks down and catches Jensen's lips in another kiss. His cock is pressed against Jensen's hip, the friction enough to make Jared's breath come a little quicker, each thrust against Jensen bringing a new wave of pleasure, slow and burning.

Jensen hums, the noise vibrating against Jared's lips, and Jared can feel him press in a little closer, can feel the hard line of Jensen's dick against his thigh, filling quickly. Jared's got a few inches on him, and his shoulders are broader, arms more muscled, but the way Jensen moves – both back at the museum and now, against Jared – is so lithe, so confident, Jared knows Jensen could probably take him. Knows he's the one pressing Jensen against the wall only because Jensen is letting him. The thought makes heat pool in Jared's stomach.

He trails his hand down Jensen's body, feeling hard, lean muscles move under his palm as they rock together. He stops to rub his thumb over Jensen's nipple, and when Jensen shudders against him, Jared repeats the action, his touch firm.

He breaks the kiss then, rests his forehead against Jensen's, and hitches his leg higher.

"Fuck," Jensen murmurs, his fingers tightening in Jared's hair, his breath coming out in sharp, broken pants. 

Jared rests one hand on Jensen's hip, keeps the other braced against the wall, and grinds against Jensen with slow, smooth rolls of his hips.

Jensen comes first, head hitting the wall with a dull thud, and he's still shuddering, fingers digging into Jared, when Jared comes, too. 

"That's not what I had in mind," Jensen says after a couple of minutes, voice lazy and just this side of breathless.

Jared huffs out a laugh. "Yeah? Well, maybe I'm not done yet."

"Care to prove that?" Jensen asks.

Jared pulls back, untangles himself from Jensen, and smiles. "Where's the bedroom?"

Jensen licks his lips, grins, and wraps his fingers around Jared's wrist while he sidesteps him, pulling him along.

They take things slow the second time around, kissing and touching. Jensen, sprawled out on the dark sheets of his bed and his face slack from pleasure, is the most gorgeous, most riveting guy Jared has ever seen.

Afterward, they lie in a tangle of sheets and pillows, and Jared feels content and relaxed. 

"Hey," Jensen says. His voice is soft, thoughtful. 

Jared rolls onto his side, props his head up on his hand, and looks down at Jensen. "Hmm."

"Want to do me a favor?"

Jared grins, eyes traveling down Jensen's naked body. "Again?"

Jensen laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Jared feels a new rush of want.

"Give me a couple of hours," Jensen says. "But that's not what I was talking about."

"Oh?"

"There's a private vault in New York City. Filled to the brim. And a guy who wants it emptied out, he doesn't care what I do with the stuff."

"Really?" Jared asks, and snorts. "He wants you to clean out a vault, but doesn't want any of the things? How come?"

"He's got money. He just wants revenge," Jensen says with a shrug. "It's his brother's vault, that's all I know. And I really didn't care about the details, not with the amount of money I'm getting out of this."

Jared whistles. "Sweet gig," he says.

"Yeah," Jensen agrees. "It is. It's also a two-man job."

"And you're still looking for the second guy to do the job with," Jared guesses.

Jensen stretches and grins. "No. I think I found him."

"Yeah, I think maybe you did," Jared agrees. He dips down and kisses Jensen, cupping his cheek, and Jensen smiles against his lips.

Jared slides his hand down Jensen's face, feels the bristles of stubble, the sharp cut of Jensen's jaw. He trails his fingers over Jensen's neck, his collarbone, and chest, and settles on Jensen's waist as he moves to set his head on the pillow next to Jensen's.

"A couple of hours?" he asks in a murmur, kissing Jensen's jaw.

Jensen laughs softly. "Or whenever the hell we wake up," he suggests.

"Yeah," Jared agrees, and closes his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Sounds good."

+

**Present**

They stay in Omaha for a week while rarely leaving the hotel before Jensen finally manages to talk Jared into head out. A news article on their heist mentions the police have no good leads yet, and he thinks it's a good time to get going.

They pack up and check out the next morning.

"Where to next?" Jared asks as he guns the car, glancing at Jensen. Jensen looks relaxed and happy, sunglasses shielding his eyes and his skin tanned and freckled.

"You mentioned Hawaii," Jensen teases.

Jared smiles at him. "Gotta sell that jewelry first then," he says. "I know a guy in Texas who'll gladly buy most of the stuff without question."

"Hmm, the guy who bought the tiara last December?"

"Yeah," Jared agrees.

"Okay, Texas it is then," Jensen agrees. "We can swing by home. I'm sick of living out of a suitcase anyway. I miss my closet full of clothes."

"I miss my Xbox," Jared replies.

Jensen sighs sufferingly. "For someone who grew up in high society, you're really low brow."

"I'll drink champagne while playing Xbox if it makes you feel better. Maybe eat some oysters," Jared replies. "And once I'm done kicking ass, I'll take my trophy boyfriend out to dinner."

Jensen snorts. He leans in and brushes his lips against Jared's jaw. "Just drive us home, babe, and shut up."

+

**March 1, 2010**

Jared's clicking aimlessly on links when Jensen strolls into the room. He has a sheet wrapped around his waist and curled over his left arm, and he still looks half-asleep, pillow creases on his cheek and hair disheveled.

Jared whistles appreciatively.

"Shut up," Jensen mutters, but he smiles. He comes around the table and picks up Jared's coffee mug, taking a sip before grimacing and Jared knows it's because it's too sweet. 

Jensen, even after a month, is still a mystery to Jared most of the time. He doesn't like to talk about himself much and there's something guarded about him, but Jared revels in the things he does know about Jensen. How he takes his coffee, that he loves sandwiches but hates burgers, that he likes to sing along to the radio, and that he's amazing at what he does. Each day they work together, sleep together, Jared learns something new and he's slowly piecing Jensen together, bit by bit.

"What are you doing?" Jensen asks after draining the coffee and putting the mug back down.

"Just fooling around a bit. Looking at cars," Jared says. 

He scoots his chair back, the hotel's complimentary robe slipping off his thigh a little, and catches Jensen around the hips and pulls him down. Jensen makes a surprised noise, going stiff for a moment, before he relaxes, shifts until he's more balanced on Jared's lap.

"You wanna buy a car?" he asks.

"Well, I'm rich now," Jared says, nuzzling Jensen's neck. "You said we'd split the money from the vault equally."

"Of course," Jensen replies. "So. A car."

His voice sounds a bit forced, his body tense.

Jared rubs his thumb over the soft skin of Jensen's waist, where the sheet begins. "Your car is a piece of shit."

"Excuse me?" Jensen asks, twisting his head back and glaring at Jared. "My car is perfectly fine."

"Your car is boring. I want something sleek and badass," Jared replies. "Like, a Cadillac."

"A Cadillac?" Jensen echoes. 

"Yeah. A classic one maybe, from the 60s or 70s."

"Oh, so something that draws attention to you right away? Hey, maybe you could make a sign that announces what you do and hang it around your neck while you're at it," Jensen mocks.

Jared pulls him back a little, ignoring Jensen's small grunt, and kisses him softly behind the ear. "Well, we could keep your car and use it when we need to stay on the down low," he suggests, then halts and waits carefully for Jensen's reaction.

Jensen's quiet for a moment that seems to drag on for a small eternity before he huffs. "We're thieves. We should always be on the down low. Moron."

"Spoilsport," Jared replies.

Jensen sighs and shifts until he's sitting sideways on Jared's lap. "I'm being sensible. Something that you're obviously not."

"Because being sensible isn't fun."

"Know what else isn't fun? Being stuck in jail. Especially in different cells, so there won't even be any sex. Not with me at least."

"Point. Okay, no car for me then," Jared concedes. He palms Jensen's hip, sliding his hand a little lower, and peppers kisses down his jaw to his collarbone. He stops at a tiny scar there he noticed a couple of weeks ago, and presses his lips to it.

"Where's this from?" he murmurs, lifting his head to look at Jensen.

"Accident," Jensen says.

Jared waits for a second before he realizes Jensen's not going to elaborate.

"Accident?" Jared repeats.

Jensen shrugs. "Yeah. Does it matter?"

Jared cups his cheek, rubs his thumb over Jensen's cheekbone. "No, guess not," he says. "If you don't wanna talk about it, you don't have to."

"It's not...I'm not keeping anything from you that you need to know," Jensen says, looking a bit frustrated. "I just don't like to talk about some parts of my life."

"Okay," Jared accepts.

"It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. My life wasn't always— _perfect_ , but what's done is done. Only thing that matters is the present, right?"

"And the future," Jared adds.

Jensen smiles. "Yeah, that too."

"And I'm gonna be part of yours," Jared says, voice firm.

"Is that so?" 

Jared grins. "Yes. We're a good team. It'd be stupid to split up."

"I guess we shouldn't then," Jensen muses. When Jared nods, Jensen leans in and kisses him, and Jared can feel his smile against his lips.

+

**Present**

"How much do you think I should ask for?" Jared asks, holding a ring up to the light. He frowns a little. "You're better at this stuff than I am."

"No shit," Jensen says. He sidles up next to Jared, taking the ring from him. He sets it down next to the other rings, runs his fingers over a necklace and hums. "You'd think after years of stealing things, and you know, growing up with your parents, you'd know these kinda things."

"Diamonds bore me. I don't get why people are so obsessed over small, shiny stones," Jared replies. "Plus, that's what I got you for."

"What if I ever leave you?" Jensen teases.

Jared steps up behind him, slides his arms around Jensen's waist and nuzzles his neck. "You'd never," he murmurs, kissing the soft skin he finds.

Jensen tilts his head back and meets Jared's lips in a brief kiss. "Yeah. You'd be lost without me and I wouldn't be that cruel."

Jared pinches Jensen's side, and Jensen yelps.

"Ow, fucker. That hurt."

"Oh please," Jared replies. "Now tell me what to ask for. And make it good. Your present depends on it."

"What are you getting me anyway? You know, from _our_ money," Jensen asks, picking up the necklace. He turns it around and peers at it. "A house? A car? A boat?"

"You seem to like diamonds an awful lot," Jared replies. 

"If you buy me a tiara, I will punch you in the face," Jensen threatens.

"But you looked so nice with the one we stole last year," Jared says teasingly. "Remember?"

"We're not talking about this," Jensen says firmly, and Jared swears he can see a blush staining his neck. "I can't believe the stuff you talk me into sometimes."

Jared laughs. "You liked it as much as I did, sweetheart," he says, and slaps Jensen's hip playfully.

"Jared."

"Okay, shutting up," Jared agrees. "And no tiara. I was thinking a ring anyway."

He feels Jensen tense against him, and Jensen sets the necklace back down slowly. 

"A ring," he echoes. "Like, a 'here have some jewelry because I like you, but I'm not very imaginative' kind of ring, or you know, the one where you get down on your knees and ask me to marry you kind?"

Jared shrugs even if he knows Jensen can't see him. "Would you say yes if it was the latter?"

"Jared."

"What? Not a fan of marriage?" Jared asks, voice genuinely curious. They never really talked about it, and Jared never really pondered if Jensen would ever want to get married. It's not as if Jared would really care – it's not a deal breaker. It's not something he needs. But there's a part of him that thinks it would be nice.

"It's not that," Jensen says, and he turns around in Jared's arms, frowns up at him. "But we're not exactly a normal couple. We're _criminals_."

"And criminals can't get married?" Jared asks.

"No. Of course not. But—we spend most of our lives running from the law, and sooner or later we're gonna run out of luck."

"Says who?" Jared asks. "And we're not running from the law. We're just, you know, keeping a low profile. All the cops know about us are a few sketchy descriptions – and most of them don't even come close to the truth."

"For now," Jensen says, and smiles sadly. "We're not gonna pull this off for the rest of our lives and we both know it."

Jared chuckles. "I don't plan on doing this for the rest of our lives."

"Since when?"

"Since you," Jared says with a shrug. 

"Jared. You love what we do. You need the thrill and we both know it."

"Being with you is thrilling enough for me," Jared replies. "I figured we could do this for a couple of years and then leave the country. Europe maybe, or Canada."

"Together?"

"Well, settling down on your own sounds kinda boring," Jared says, smiling at Jensen. "And in case you missed it, I kinda like you."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. You're the Bonnie to my Clyde."

Jensen cocks his head to the side, eyebrows raised, and Jared sighs.

"Okay, fine. I'm the Bonnie to _your_ Clyde," he corrects. "Point is, I fucking love you. And I'd rather end my life growing old with you in some nice house in Europe than apart from you, locked up in some cell because we never stopped."

"To be fair, we'd probably escape if they ever catch up and lock us up," Jensen interjects.

"Yeah. Settling down kinda still sounds better."

Jensen looks at him, sighs, but there's a small smile on his lips. "Since when are you the voice of reason?"

"I'm not," Jared says with a snort. "I just thought I'd bring it up. See how you feel about it."

"You've really thought about this."

"Now and then," Jared admits. "More and more often lately."

"So, you're really talking about the getting down on one knee and proposing kind of ring?" Jensen still sounds a bit dubious, his eyebrows raised in perfect arches, and Jared laughs softly.

"Well, it's not like we can really get married anyway. But—it would still be nice to wear a ring. Just for us," he says. "It's not like I care what anyone else thinks."

Jensen snorts. "No, you don't," he says.

"So?" Jared prompts.

Jensen's lips twitch up into a smile. "I always wanted to live in Europe. London, maybe. Or Paris," he says. 

"Europe it is then," Jared agrees.

Jensen grins. "So, a couple of years, huh?"

"Yup."

"You know what I think we should do?" Jensen asks. "Go out with a bang and steal as much shit as we can while we're at it."

"I always wanted to steal a real Monet," Jared muses.

"And I'd never deny my future, unofficial husband anything," Jensen says.

Jared kisses him, his hands resting on Jensen's hips. He pushes him back against the counter, and neither of them pay attention to half of the jewelry falling onto the ground, a couple of rings rolling under shelves. There'll be more anyway.

  


**the end**   



End file.
